


The Endless Day

by Undomiel5



Series: The Forgotten Princess [5]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Last Alliance of Elves and Men, Minor Character Death, Second Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-30 01:08:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11452833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Undomiel5/pseuds/Undomiel5
Summary: S.A. 3437. During one of many battles during the War of the Last Alliance, a party of elves are cut off from the main body of the High King's army. On and on they fight through a day that never seems to end. One by one they fall until only a single elf is left barely alive at battle's end. Will help come in time to save her?





	The Endless Day

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings or any other of Tolkien's works, idea, characters, etc. set in Middle Earth. All I own are a handful of original characters and the plots of these specific stories.

S.A. 3437  
Mordor

To Gloredhel it seemed that the day had gone on forever. It had been years now since the War of the Last Alliance had begun, and, even while his own dark tower was under siege, Sauron was still able to send out powerful sorties to attack the elves. That was what had happened late that morning. Gloredhel had started the fight near to the her cousin Gil-Galad, High King of the Noldor, but some hours later (she knew not exactly how long) she had been cut off from the main body of the army with a small group of elves. For many long hours they had fought together, shoulder to shoulder, trying to outlast the enemy, waiting and hoping that help would come from their comrades, but no one had either yet seen their plight or were not able to aid them, for no relief came. And so one after another, they were cut down by sword, arrow, or spear.

The hours of the afternoon had worn on, and now only three of the elves were left. Gloredhel and the other two elves stood shoulder to shoulder in a triangle shape with their backs to each other. Gloredhel knew that they had little time left. Even though the battle was drawing to a close, they had been pushed far enough from their own lines that she did not think help would come in time. The strength of all was fading, but still they fought on, unwilling to give in. Gloredhel suddenly heard a cry to her right and turning slightly saw a comrade fall. She took a step back and to her right, so that she could try to protect him with her own sword and shield. She knew in the end it would be hopeless, but she would not let a comrade down while she was still able to fight.

For a little while longer the last two elves continued the fight. Around them were piled the bodies of many orcs along with bodies of the elves that had already fallen. Suddenly she heard a victorious shout from the orcs, and she knew that she was now fought alone. A moment later she felt a sharp pain in her stomach and, looking down, saw an orc sword protruding from her abdomen. The sword was removed. She tried to stay upright, to keep fighting, but after tottering for a moment, she collapsed to the ground her shield falling with a clatter across her legs. Staring up into the darkening sky, Gloredhel pressed a hand to her stomach trying in vain to stop the flow of crimson blood from her wound; her other hand still clasped her sword in a death grip. For some reason, the orcs kept on moving, leaving her to die instead of finishing the kill.

It seemed to Gloredhel that her armor had become very weighty as she struggled for every breath. "Was I reborn only to die again?" She wondered. It was growing harder to breathe. Her thoughts were becoming muddled, and her eyes grew heavier. She could feel the darkness encroaching and consciousness leaving. She struggled in vain to keep fighting, but soon her eyes closed and consciousness fled.

Several more hours passed, and night continued to fall. The elves were victorious, and the orcs had been driven off the field, but at a heavy cost. Now parties of elves carefully picked their way across the battlefield. The bodies of orcs, as gruesome and horrifying in death as in life, lay in thick rows and in piles where they had fallen fighting. Scattered here and there among the orc bodies were the bodies of elves in their bright armor. The uninjured elves now searched for the bodies of the dead comrades to give them the honor of a decent burial and searched for their injured comrades to give what aid they could to try to prevent more elves from journeying to the Halls of Mandos that day.

There was one elf in particular that they were searching for. When the battle had ended, all the leading elves of the army had gathered around the king, but to the shock and grief of King Gil-Galad, both of the twins, the cousins and advisors of the king, were found to be missing. Glorfindel had soon turned up having been fighting with Anarion on the other side of the field, but no sign of Lady Gloredhel had yet been found, and it was greatly feared that she had perished in the fight.

Círdan the Shipwright led one of these parties. He held a lantern with one hand to aid the keen sight of the elves in the heavy darkness. Its golden flame illuminated a small area surrounding them with an eerie glow that flickered and danced in the cold wind. With the other hand he still carried a drawn sword in case they came upon any surviving orcs among the dead and dying. They moved slowly here and there stopping to check the body of a fallen elf for signs of life and making sure that those among the living were taken care of. Finally they came upon a larger than usual pile of bodies made up mainly of orcs. Clearly those elves who had died here had fought long and hard.

As he rounded the corner of the pile of orcs he caught sight of a face he knew well. An elf-lady lay stretched on the ground a few feet in front of him. Her eyes were closed, and her golden hair was stained with blood. A shield lay across her legs, and one still hand clasped a sword.

Fear grasped the heart of the elf-lord as he looked upon the unmoving form of his old friend. Círdan hurried forward and crouching beside her felt for a pulse. After a long heart stopping moment he felt a faint beat. By now the others of the search party had gathered around a little ways behind Círdan. All recognized who lay in front of them and waited silently to hear of her fate.

Finally, Círdan spoke, struggling to keep the relief out of his voice. "Bring a litter. She's still alive."

One of the elves ran off to bring help and a litter, while the other moved forward and knelt in front of the lady to hold the lamp so Círdan could try to find a wound after he had moved the shield away. The elf first folded his cloak and put it beneath Gloredhel's head and then picked up the lamp. It didn't take Círdan long to find the wound that had felled the elf lady. There was a hole in the armor across her stomach. Rolling her over carefully, they found another wound on her back. Círdan believed from the shape and position of the wound that she had been stabbed from behind by an orc sword. They rolled her gently back onto her back, and Círdan set to work to cut a bandage from his cloak which was all they had at hand.

When he had done this, he pressed the makeshift bandage to Gloredhel's wound. The sharp pain of this drew a pained cry from her lips and brought her back towards consciousness. Her eyelids fluttered and then opened fully. She looked around, trying to focus her eyes. The effects of a concussion and blood loss were taking their toll. For a moment she did not seem to recognize the two elves that were with her and tried to sit up.

Círdan with gentle pressure on her shoulder kept her still. "Gloredhel, you must stay still. You've been wounded."

Gloredhel turned her gaze to him and tried to focus. "Círdan . . . What happened? . . . Did we win? . . ." Her voice was weak and slightly slurred.

"Yes, we won," Círdan replied, "but don't try to speak, you are badly injured."

"It hurts . . . it hurts. . ." She gave another groan at the continued pressure Círdan kept on the wound.

"I know it does. Just keep still. We're bringing a litter, and then we'll get you back to camp." Círdan said quietly in a soothing voice.

Not thinking clearly, she tried to move again as another thought came to her mind. "My brother . . . Glorfindel . . . is he alright? . . ."

"He is fine." Círdan said soothingly. "But Gloredhel, you must keep still!"

Finally she subsided and lay still. Her head lolled to one side slightly as consciousness again started to flee. A few minutes later running footsteps were heard. And the returning elf came hurrying toward them carrying a litter along with another elf.

As gently as they could the four elves transferred the wounded Gloredhel from the hard, rocky ground to the litter and hurried with her toward the camp of the elves.


End file.
